


I think this time I’m dying.

by Anonymous



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Gen, George is only mentioned though, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Introspection, I’m really so so sorry, LMAO NOT EVEN MENTIONED HIS NAME IS NEVER USED, M/M, Mentions of Wilbur and ycgma cause I love him :), Op stop projecting onto Dream challenge, Painful pining, Pining, but dream is talking about him because I said so, im just pining so Dream has to pine too, is that a tag, its 4 am oh god, no beta we die like my sleep schedule, shameless vent ngl, this is just angst ngl, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28190571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He wishes he didn't want him, with everything his soul has.He wishes strongly he could take it all back, tie the burning acid in his belly with a blue ribbon, he curses upon having to feel, having to ache like this. He just wants it to stop.And yet, he still hopes. He speaks, like the fool he is, gives and gives and gives, somehow only expecting something in return, and halfheartedly knowing it won't arrive.Nonetheless he thinks. He imagines, every chance he gets, what it would be like.Dream wonders what if would feel like, to be burned byhiswords. To be ultimately consumed by the fire his skin prickles to feel. To be adored as he adores, to be seen as he sees.He knows he won't have the answer, but nonetheless, he hopes.Like a fool, he hopes.In which op is pining listening to your city gave me asthma by Wilbur, so dream has to pine too I’m so sorry
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10
Collections: Anonymous





	I think this time I’m dying.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello ! I’m so sorry, this is the first time I ever bring you angst :(  
> Title is from Saline Solution by Wilbur, cause goddammit I love that man, and in general, ycgma is such a fucking good album and I adore and cry to every single song in it, but this one always hits different.
> 
> This is just, really shameless projection. It’s kinda painful, so if you don’t want your mood to go down, maybe it would be best to skip this one.  
> If not, I hope you enjoy !! I promise to bring something happy next time, I have something in the works ;)
> 
> Please remember to not shove the ship into their faces. Not because they're not uncomfortable with it it means we have to be disrespectful. Please, don't even think of sending this or mentioning this (or probably any other work of fiction of this kind, please be respectful to authors.) on any kind of comments or donos to them.
> 
> And ! the moment either of them speak about not feeling comfortable with works published about them anymore, i will gladly delete this completly ! what matters most is the cc's feelings and wishes.

There's something about the silence in the death of the night that makes his ears ring.

It's horrible.

He hates it. Dream hates the silence that fills the empty dark room, not a single shadow looming, not a light that can spare him the unforgiving feeling of melancholy that sits heavy in his gut.

So, he decides to do what he does best.  
He indulges in his thoughts.

He's always heard about the supposed pain in his chest that's supposed to fill you when you love someone.  
The supposed throbbing of you heartbeat that hammers against your ribcage. The familiar ache, and warmth that crawls through your chest at the mere mention of that person's name.

He doesn't think he's ever felt it before.

Which just makes it even more so complicated for him.  
What the fuck are you supposed to feel when you fall in love with someone?  
When is the line drawn? The line between the joy the company of another person brings you, and the deep rooted longing. The suffocating breath caught in your throat at midnight, the lingering of unspoken words that make you choke with your own breath drawn deep from within your throat. The tears that slip down your face in, _the once again_ maddening echo of nothingness in the night.

He has to drown it out, he decides.

So, he pulls out his headphones, and immediately plays the first album he can see on the burning white screen that greets him. It's Wilbur's album.

He knows better than to feel too much pity for himself. He knows better than to feed on the dread that makes his headache get worse and his sense of loss grow. But, nonetheless, he doesn't listen, because when has he fucking ever listened to begin with?

The sound of nostalgic guitar chords fill his ears, and he can only close his eyes and let the music fill his senses. He gets whiplash, going from the quiet to sound that fills him with too many emotions to count in a matter of seconds makes him feel almost overwhelmed. Like he needs to shut it all off, like it's too much for his heart to deal with at the moment, like he wants to go back to the silence, no matter how much worse it is than this, just because crying as much as he is right now is terrifying and unfair. 

But he doesn't, and the sentimental singing can only make his state worsen. He shuts his eyes strongly, to the point where it hurts, where he can see bright figures, and his eyes burn with prickling tears that slip to the side of his face, one of them glazing through his eyelid thanks to gravity pulling it down as he lays on his side.

He's cold.

Dream is no stranger to loving someone so much, to the point where you can only lose yourself. He no stranger to loving someone with so much force, with so much power your chest blooms with flowers and your words lace with honey. 

Maybe he can't recognize love by the ache in his chest of familiarity, by the strong feeling of being home, but he sure as hell knows he wouldn't hurt so much if this wasn't love.

He's no stranger to knowing you love someone more than they love you. 

To the resignation that comes with it, the impossible hope that lingers carved into your very soul with threads of gold, hoping, acutely aware of the fact that you'd give anything to know the other seeks for you as much as you for them. He doesn't like it.

The music is background noise now, even with the calm it brings him. It's not enough.

He wishes he didn't want him, with everything his soul has.  
He wishes strongly he could take it all back, tie the burning acid in his belly with a blue ribbon, he curses upon having to feel, having to ache like this. He just wants it to stop.

And yet, he still hopes. He speaks, like the fool he is, gives and gives and gives, somehow only expecting something in return, and halfheartedly knowing it won't arrive.

Nonetheless he thinks. He imagines, every chance he gets, what it would be like. 

Dream wonders what if would feel like, to be burned by _his_ words. To be ultimately consumed by the fire his skin prickles to feel. To be adored as he adores, to be seen as he sees.  
He knows he won't have the answer, but nonetheless, he hopes. 

Like a fool, he hopes.

Its wistful, probably nothing more than wishful thinking. But he can't help it. He's tried. It won't work.  
It hurts all the same, the stiffness of the words he sings out, sweet and heartfelt and honest like syrup, dripping and coating everything around them, being returned as soaked sand that slips through his fingers. 

It may drip too, but it'll never be the same.

He can only ache though. Ache, and hope for things to turn out better. Ache, and wish for his words to be returned with as much fervor. Ache, and want for his feelings to dissolve like salt in water. Ache, and long for the feeling of peace he so tries to chase.

He can only ache, and look for the answer in his chest. For a rumble, for a pang of pain, or the warmth of affection.

Nothing comes.

He sighs, bound and broken and scared shitless.  
His tears burn like boiling water as they soak through his pillows, burning them at the touch too. His head hurts even more.

He cries until he can't hear the music anymore, until it can no longer overwhelm him, until it becomes white noise under the hushed whispers that fill his empty, dark room.

_Why do i have to want you?_

_Why can't I stop crying?_

_Why can't you love me as much as I love you?_

_It's okay though_

_I promise it's okay_

_I'd give anything for you_

He tires himself to sleep, and he can no longer hear Wilbur's quiet singing.

**Author's Note:**

> TYSM for reading !! Comments are always greatly appreciated, I read every single one, and answer too, they always make me smile. Thank you aaaa !!


End file.
